Amends

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Amends

Poem

I worshipped and yet worship Thee O Sire,
Venerate Thy eyes, the twin divine suns,
Thy mind like an innumerable limbed fire,
Yet, one aspect does grate I must confess!

I have adored Thee O Sire with my little heart,
Through tumult and tears murmured a song
Hoping the careless gods ferry it to Thy feet.
Yet, by one aspect Thou doth do much wrong!

I have cherished Thee O Sire, Thy impossibilities
Have gaped at in wonder, though Thy exactitude 
Has made insufficient the labour of many lives,
Yet, by one aspect Thou doth all these negate.

By what grim-inked pen dost Thou script story mine?
Dost Thy fingers war against Thy will for me,
Because I venerated much the feet of Thine?
Oh ink for me a handful of springs simply happy,

Make of rainbow a glad reed Thy fingers to hold,
Breathe in it hundred glad songs of heaven,
Turn Thy infinite book’s pages to a chapter bold
And scribe my name upon each its margin.

Now, now let me make amends for what I did miss,
To each Thy finger I bow in an endless obeisance.